


One Of Those Rare Nights

by Erinla



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-02
Updated: 2013-07-02
Packaged: 2017-12-16 21:10:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/866643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erinla/pseuds/Erinla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short drabble about Winchesters and fireworks written for a friend who needed some cheering.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Of Those Rare Nights

The stars hung bright in the violet sky, still showing vague hints of the sun that had only just disappeared beneath the horizon line.

            Fireworks boomed in the distance as the closing ceremony for a local fair in the small, nearby town where Sam and Dean had just finished tracking down a shape-shifter began to finish up.

            The sound made Dean feel pleasantly nostalgic as he walked around the side of the parked Impala, hopping onto the hood and tossing a beer to his brother.

            It wasn’t often that they had much free time between hunts; it was usually one thing after another, with no time for relaxation.

            They’d find a case, track it down however they needed to, kill the son of a bitch, then collapse, exhausted into their beds at any number of shady motels, only to wake up the next day and do it all over again.

            Life could get a bit dizzying that way sometimes, and it was difficult some days to even keep track of the date.

            But every once in a while they’d have an easy hunt, like the idiot shifter who did a piss-poor job at covering his tracks. Dean had almost felt bad for the unlucky bastard.

            Almost.

            They always took nights like this in good graces, jumping at an opportunity to slow down, spend some time together, and maybe pretend that tomorrow wasn’t going to just bring more of the same.

            But who was Dean kidding, really? He wondered as he opened his beer with satisfying hiss, tilting his head back to take a long needed drink of the vaguely bitter tasting liquid.

            He loved this life, as much as anyone could, at least. It was all he had known, and all he would ever know. He’d die the same way he was raised, a gun in his hand, and a fierce determination to go down with a fight. He didn’t think domesticity was something he could ever settle into.

            Sam, maybe, but not him.

            But despite everything, despite the grueling, unconventional way they lived, unforgiving and unrewarding, Sam was there.

            Sam was amazingly there, drinking a beer with Dean and staring at the now velvet-black sky as though he hadn’t given up a damn thing.

            Given up Stanford, and an education and a real life…a life like he had always _wanted_.

            But Dean knew damn well that no matter how badly he wanted to give Sammy everything, to give him that happy picket-fence life that he always longed for, that Sam wouldn’t budge.

            Sam was a permanent fixture now, and he wasn’t going anywhere, no matter what.

            Dean didn’t have _words_ that could express what that meant. Not that he had ever been much of a linguist in the first place, but this was on a whole different ballpark.

            This was dedication that he had never felt to anyone else in his life. The dozens of girls he had known and loved, even his father, who he had dutifully followed until the end…none of that even came close to the desperation he felt to protect Sammy with every ounce of life he had in him.

            Because really, what would even be the point, if Sam was gone?

            Dean almost laughed out loud at that: There wasn’t. No Sam meant no reason to give a shit anymore.

            Dean took another drink of his beer as Sam spoke.

            “We should have bought fireworks.” He mused with a grin, listening to the pops and rumbles that briefly lit up a small portion of the sky. They couldn’t actually see the fireworks, as a tree line was blocking the view, but once in a while after a particularly loud bang, the sky just above the trees would be illuminated.

            Dean smiled. Sam didn’t have to mention the memory they were both reliving. The scene even looked similar; the country sky providing a breathtaking view as it looked over the grassy clearing they had parked in.

            It wasn’t the Fourth of July, but the summer air was warm and tasted like nostalgia, like memories that he would die before giving up.

            It was memories like that, moments like this that Dean thought some days kept him from going completely mad.

            After everything they had been through…sometimes it seemed like a miracle that either of them could even function normally.

            Dean lied back, resting his back against the car’s windshield, and Sam followed suit, silence falling between them once again as they watched the unchanging sky, hearing the distant cheers of the fairgoers while the grand finale filled the humid air with a thunderous barrage of noise.

            It was a little unreal, sometimes, to think of those people who were down there, who had spent the whole day at that fair, stuffing their happy faces with corndogs and spending ridiculous amounts of money on impossible to win games. The thought that there were _people_ , billions of them, walking the same ground as he and Sam, living normal lives like there was nothing more to it than school and work and countryside fairs full of overpriced rides and funnel cakes…

            How did they get fulfillment? How did they get themselves out of bed in the morning? What possible reason could they find?

            “You think too much, Dean.” Sam said with that uncanny ability to read Dean’s mind in an almost unnerving way.

            Dean moved closer to Sam, letting their shoulders touch and closing his eyes.

            “Yeah, you’re probably right.” He sighed, a smile playing at his lips. “I get a little thrown off sometimes, having nights like this. A night off. Sometimes I forget how to relax.”

            Dean heard Sam shift next to him, and familiar lips pressed against his smile.

            He felt warm and wondered how _anyone_ —civilians, other hunters, anybody other than himself, really—could find fulfillment in life without Sammy.

            What else was there?

            When Dean opened his eyes again, Sam was sitting up, watching the last bits of light fade from behind the treetops, a few stray sparks coming into view before the booming died out, leaving a resounding cheer from the onlookers before that, too, fell silent.

            It left Dean with a feeling that there was nobody else in the world but the two of them, and sometimes it really did feel that way.

            Dean was okay with that.

            As long as Sammy was still there and alive and warm and protected, Dean was okay.

            Dean didn’t remember falling asleep that night, still lying on the hood of the car, their warm bodies pressed together in comfort, and Dean’s hand tangled in Sam’s hair, but he knew he had tried to keep his tired eyes open as long as possible, always wanting to savor the rare moments like this that they got, and forget the routine they would wake up to the next morning.


End file.
